Martyr of the Sands: SPECIAL EDITION
by Lord Hoth
Summary: A Special Edition of the very first Star Wars story I ever wrote. Edited for readability and released for the first time, it's the tale of Jek Nkik, the bravest crawler captain in all of the Dune Sea!
1. Chapter 1

"Gears are grinding," said the technical monitor. "Weg is projecting a probable repair deadline."

Jek Nkik nodded, a barely perceptible movement beneath his hood. But if the other Jawa hadn't seen, it didn't matter. He could tell by Jek's pheromones that he had heard and acknowledged the report. A great percentage of Jawa communication was transmitted via the smells that other species interpreted as simply a bad stench.

Jek sighed. Another reason that Jawas were looked down upon by the other, so-called "higher" members of society. His clan brother and best friend, Het would have scoffed at their ignorance and encouraged the Jawas to take a stand, but Jek doubted his radical ideas would ever amount to much, even in Het's own mind.

Right now, it didn't much matter.

With his leadership skills, Jek was the newly appointed captain of his sandcrawler and leader of this portion of the Nkik clan. To Jek it was a high honor, and he did not take his responsibility lightly. It would be his chance to prove himself and the rest of the Nkik clan as skilled traders, highly valued in Jawa society, and perhaps in "higher" society, too.

He would take the Jawas a step up from smelly, double-dealing scavengers to. . .well, whatever was a step above that.

Beneath his hood, Jek's olfactory organ twitched. He smelled something. He smelled excitement. He smelled adventure. He smelled great merchandise at discount prices! The Jawa dream!

On a premonition, he summoned his helmsman and ordered a course adjustment. Two degrees westward. Thirty-two degrees north. And all ahead full.

Jek stared out at the vast, sandy landscape. Events of epic proportion were going to happen today. He could feel it in his bones.

A few hours later, the sandcrawler passed the bones of a different entity. A huge sand creature, several meters in length, had left its skeletal remains in the desert. Jek felt fortunate that he had not encountered a live one. Those were far more difficult to navigate past.

A slightly younger Jawa rushed into the cockpit. Jek recognized him as one of the clan brothers who assisted his technical monitor. "Sir," he said. "Two of our microgears have shut down and are on the verge of affecting vehicle performance."

Jek didn't have to ask to know that the effect wouldn't be positive. "I'm coming down," he called to the tech.

Jek descended into the bowels of the crawler. Swarming about were dozens of Jawa technicians, their mood evident by the "frantic" pheromone that was in the air. Jek remained calm as he followed his escort toward the malfunctioning gears. Weg, the supervising mechanic, was closely examining the section. Jek stood next to him.

Weg gave him a brief summary of the problem in one quick burst of jabber. Jek scratched his chin in contemplation, a gesture he'd learned from a human in Mos Eisley. The problem was simple enough to determine, which, common sense told him, meant that the solution was probably relatively simple, as well.

Someone handed him a mini-glowlamp, and he shone it into the small crevice where the essential microgears that regulated the power flow throughout the ancient machine were located. They were still moving, but at a much slower pace than normal and in short, jerky ticks. Jek put a light touch with his finger on the gears, feeling the clicking of the teeth, the irregular mechanical pulse of the non-sentient beast.

From his bandoleer, Jek produced a microspanner, a handy tool for working in small places. With practiced dexterity, he inserted the implement into the small space and levered it precisely to a calculated spot. A creature with highly attuned hearing--which included all of the Jawas in the engine room--could hear a slight, but decisive pop. Jek stepped back and shone the light in the hole to make sure his triumph could be seen by all.

The other Jawas stared for a second as the rest of the sandcrawler resumed its normal, labored functioning. Jek patted Weg's shoulder and walked out the room, sensing his clan siblings' olfactory screams of amazement. Even if it wasn't as audible, it was still just as satisfying.

Jek Nkik, the bold crawler captain, had done it again.


	2. Chapter 2

Jek sat on an old cargo crate, staring thoughtfully out the window of his command room. The thought never occurred to the Jawa that his meditations could be compared to those of the commanding officer of an Imperial Star Destroyer, staring out a viewport over a vast starscape. Jek's view, however, was much different, in that all he saw were the vast, sandy dunes of Tatooine rolling over the landscape. This scenery was all he had ever known.

A subordinate Jawa entered Jek's "command room." At least that was the name that he had given it in his mind. The younger creature waited patiently for Jek to detect his pheromones and turn around. To his surprise, however, Jek did not turn his body around, but swiveled his command chair around to face him. The younger Jawa did not understand the significance of this, of course, since Jek was the only Jawa around when he'd gotten the idea. He had seen a holo in Mos Eisley of an authoritative-looking man in an Imperial uniform, turning his chair 180 degrees to face his subordinates. This had inspired Jek to install a long, loose screw to connect his box to the floor-bolt. He doubted the other Jawas would ever understand the concept, but Jek needed every element possible element to make himself appear in command, even if the element could only be recognized by the subconscious. Jek faced his comrade and made a satisfying note of the awe and admiration in his scent.

"Speak up, clan brother!"

"Brother," the other Jawa began, faltered, then resumed. "A glint has appeared a few kilometers to the east. It is a possibility that it is sunlight reflecting off metal. It may be a valuable piece of salvage!"

Forgetting his dignity, Jek jumped off his command chair and hurried to the scanner room. The chamber was empty; the Jawas that monitored the instruments were probably in another section of the crawler eating or sleeping or doing some idle thing like that.

Jek ran his hands over the instrument panel, increasing the power to the long-range scanners that searched for wreckages, random pieces of scrap metal, or abandoned machines that the Jawas could repair and sell. The range increased, but the sensors still registered no reading on the metal detectors.

"They detect nothing," Jek said disappointedly. He flipped a few switches to decrease the strain on their power cells.

"Wait a moment, brother," the other Jawa said. "Look there."

Jek looked where the other was pointing, and his eyes quickly brightened. "The auditory detectors!" he exclaimed. "Noise in the desert.!"

As Jek keyed for microphone pickup, he prayed that the sound wasn't desert winds or some creature giving its native call.

He was greatly surprised and relieved when a clear voice resounded over the pickup in clear interplanetary Basic: "Aaay! AAaay! Over here! Please! Aaaay!"

Jek hurried to another portion of the crawler to look out the west-facing viewport. There was indeed a glint reflecting off the inexorable midday suns. Jek recognized the reflection of metal as well as any other Jawa would. A find! And a great one, indeed: a droid, functional enough to call out to them in a sound loud enough to be detected clearly by the crawler's audio pickup! Jek could already feel the credits between his fingers as he moved the sandcrawler off in the direction of the abandoned droid.

Jek leaned back in his command chair and smiled beneath his hood. Their latest acquisition, a shiny, golden-colored, protocol droid had submitted to the Nkik salvage team with virtually no resistance. It had only taken the Jawas the effort of brandishing their ion blasters to the machine to make it comply. The other Jawas had wanted to use the blasters anyway, but Jek had forbade them. The better condition an acquisition was in, the more likely it was to be sold, and at a higher price. The Jawas had fitted the droid with a rusty, but functional restraining bolt, and tossed him into the cargo hold with the rest of the scrap.

Jek rubbed his fingers together. Soon, they would be approaching a tributary of Beggar's Canyon, then it would be time to move on to some of the local moisture farms to sell their goods. Following that, Jek would guide his crawler to a great camp near the Dune Sea for the annual swap meet of all the Jawa clans. He was looking forward to cashing in on his wares and exchanging tales with the other Jawas. He was especially anticipating seeing his oldest friend and clan brother, Het Nkik. He would tell Het of his new authority and success; Het would tell him of his journeys and the development of his radical ideas, and they would both discuss new projects and ventures to take on together, as they reminisced of the past and planned for the future.

It was late in the evening when the sandcrawler picked up a droid on its sensors. Jek immediately sent out an acquisition team. Then, a notion occurred to him. In order to establish his new position as captain of the crawler, he should earn the trust and admiration of all of its crewers. He had always enjoyed taking a leadership role in previous acquisitions. With virtually no hesitation, Jek secured his ion blaster in his holster, then went out to capture the droid.

Jek stood in a dark recess of the canyon wall. There were many good places to hide in these small canyons, which made it an ideal place for an ambush. Jek stood in readiness as the droid made its way through the chasm.

Just as he had predicted, the droid was heading in his general direction. This close to it, he could see it was an older model R2 unit. It didn't look as though it was in prime condition, but it was a better quality than most of the merchandise the Jawas sold. If he couldn't pawn it to a moisture farmer or some other gullible creature, it would bring good fortune at the swap meet.

The little astromech unit rolled within range. Jek was in a perfect spot to surprise the robot. With great finesse, he leaped out into the mechanical being's path and fired an ion blast straight into the barrel-shaped automaton.

As the ion blast fried the systems of the tripodal robot, the little droid let out an extended squeal of surprise and anger, then tipped neatly off its feet and clunked onto the sandy rocks.

Jek made a brief examination of the now unconscious automaton, then gave the "all clear" signal. Gesturing to his invisible pack of ambushers, he called out "_Utinni_!"

The acquisition team materialized from their hiding places, jabbering and shrieking with delight at their leader's bold ambuscade. At Jek's direction, several of them picked up the deactivated machine and carried it toward the sandcrawler.

The Jawas set the R2 unit upright near the crawler. One of them quickly fitted it with a restraining bolt and stepped clear.

Jek slammed down on a lever on the vehicle's side and, with a loud _whoosh_, the little droid was sucked unceremoniously up into the vacuum tube mounted on the sandcrawler.

Jek allowed the others a few moments to chatter before he gave the order for the team to return to their posts inside the crawler. He, himself, scurried into a small tube, feeling quite satisfied. He headed for his command room, pausing only briefly to order another Jawa to make sure everything was secure in the cargo hold.

He had just sunk into his swivel chair, when the Jawa rushed into the chamber, babbling something about missing cargo. Jek headed for the huge cargo bays that took up a large portion of the crawler.

As he began his search, the other Jawa rushed toward him, still chattering mindlessly about the lost merchandise. After a few seconds, Jek managed to ascertain that the missing item was a GNK power droid.

Jek sighed. He had heard the unmistakable dialogue of a "Gonk" droid, as they were nicknamed, only moments before. He motioned his clan brother forward and gestured toward a shadowy recess of the bay. Pulling a droid caller from his bandoleer, he pointed it toward the niche and buzzed the receiver bolt.

The droid walked forth, answering the call in the unmistakable dialogue unique to its class: "Gonk. Gonk! Gonk, gonk, gonk!"

Jek half wondered why its creators had given it speech at all. It was no more than a walking battery, a sub-sentient portable recharger for the galaxy's vast variety of machines.

The other Jawa's pheromones were already expressing its embarrassment. Jek decided he had learned his lesson, and therefore ascended to his command room issuing no punishment. There was no sense in disciplining him if he erred on the side of caution. Jek had long ago learned that such was better than to take chances. Inventory was not the aspect of trading that one should take risks in.

Jek Nkik ushered the sandcrawler on. Markets awaited. And so did the swap meet.

He didn't want to be late.


	3. Chapter 3

It was mid-afternoon the next day, but Tatooine's twin suns had not diminished their production of heat to a great degree. Even with the sandcrawler's temperature control systems, the heat was draining Jek Nkik's energy. He took two gulps from one of the reserve water packets that were kept in the crawler and instantly felt refreshed. Jawa physiology was specially tailored to make a little moisture go a long way, a useful adaptation for a species that developed on a planet of interminable desert.

His energy restored, Jek ejected from the crawler and signaled for his lieutenants to open the door to the cargo bays. The huge panel slid aside, and Jek's lieutenants stepped inside, unholstering their ion blasters. Jek stood at the hatchway as the other Jawas prodded the droids with their weapons. Some of them moved to submit to their captors' orders, others did not stir. Jek figured most of them were in need of repair in order to attain some semblance of functionality. The Nkik Jawas would get to them later. The first priority of a trader was to deal with what worked. Right now, some of the "junk " that was moving toward the exit didn't look too shabby.

Jek looked at his potential customers, who had emerged from their subterranean farm house. A grim-faced older man, powerfully built and caked in dust, stood next to a much younger man, dwarfed by elder's bulky frame. Jek recognized the type: the overworked and underpaid employees of the soil, who coaxed the life-giving water and even scarcer food plants from the unforgiving desert. They were the backbone of Tatooine, but that didn't mean Jek had any sympathy for them. They, too, looked down upon the Jawas, dubbing them a lesser people, and thus Jek enjoyed taking advantage of their inconvenience just as much as anyone else.

As his lieutenants lined up the robots that functioned well enough to locomote themselves to display position, Jek chattered a translatable Jawa greeting to the elder farmer. The man grunted a rather rude-sounding response and went to inspect the line of mechanicals.

Jek followed the burly man as he passed down the display of robots, telling him, in as few words as possible (Jawa language could vary in expressiveness as well as comprehensibility) the redeeming and useful features of each one. The man steadily refused each, until they passed an agromech unit that he seemed to have some interest in. Jek quickly ran through a list of its amazing qualities, some that it possessed, some that it may have possessed at one time, and some that he had just made up in his head. The moisture farmer grumbled an approval, however noncommittal, and continued down the line until he came to the gold-plated protocol droid they had picked up earlier. The droid, a member of the popular 3PO line, engaged him immediately. Jek managed to catch most of the conversation.

"You," the farmer said, calling for the robot's attention. "I suppose you're programmed for etiquette and protocol."

Jek chuckled inwardly. Not a very useful attribute for a moisture farmer's machine. Unless the droid could somehow manage to diplomatically convince the loose soil of Tatooine to spit out crops.

"Protocol? Why, it's my primary function, sir!" the robot said, seeming to brighten at the human's interest in him.

The human shook his head. "I have no need for a protocol droid."

Jek thought that might have been the end of it, but the droid was surprisingly--and hopefully profitably--ingenuous. "Of course you haven't, sir. Not in an environment such as this. That is why I have been programmed. . ."

"What I really need," the farmer interrupted, "is a droid that understands the binary language of moisture vaporators."

Jek rubbed his fingers together, already feeling the credits between his gloved digits. The droid almost certainly could understand the basic language of other droids, since it had told the Jawas when they picked it up that it specialized in "human-cyborg relationships" or somesuch.

"Vaporators?!" the robot said in the same excited, but polished tone. "My first job was programming binary load-lifters, very similar to your vaporators in most respects. . ."

"Can you speak Bocce?"

"Of course I can, sir. It's like a second language to me. I'm as fluent in it as. . ."

The human interrupted it again, which to Jek was a good thing, since most protocol droids would go on for hours if you let them. "All right, shut up." He addressed Jek. "I'll take that one."

Jek chattered softly about the excellent choices the human had made, but he knew it made no difference, since stubborn creatures such as Humans rarely, if ever, changed their minds. The farmer ignored him, but spoke sternly to his younger companion. He waited patiently for them to finish their exchange, then watched as the smaller human motioned the droids forward. He noted with misgiving that the agromech unit delayed in following, but after some ushering from the human, slowly rolled out of line and pursued him and the other droid back toward the homestead.

Jek was happy to begin the final part—his most favorite part--of making a sale: haggling over the price. Jawas were experts at it, and Jek was especially talented in this arena, another reason he had received the position of crawler captain.

Jek was so enjoying negotiating the price with the weary human that he didn't notice the blue-domed R2 unit bypass its restrainer and make its way out of line to follow the trio heading back toward the farmhouse. One of his sublieutenants did, though, and he quickly tripped its restraining bolt with his droid caller. The R2 unit froze in place, giving a brief whine of protest.

Then, disaster struck. The agromech unit following the young human and the protocol droid stopped short, and a mechanical part popped, unbidden, out of its head. It gave a strange mechanical groan and froze in position.

The human called back to the elder one. "Uncle Owen! This R2 unit has a bad motivator. Look!"

The older human turned back to Jek, an angry expression on his face. "Hey, what are you trying to push on us?!"

Jek was surprised, but he was accustomed to this kind of question and replied quickly and indignantly. "I would not cheat you, my valued customer! My only wish is that you receive your needed merchandise at the best possible price. I was unaware of this droid's faulty mechanism."

The statement was was true; Jek hadn't been aware of the fault. But that didn't mean if he had been, he would've informed the human before it was sold. If the part blew while it was in the farmer's possession and the Jawas long gone, it was the farmer's problem, not Jek's.

The human didn't believe him, and Jek could tell just by looking at him that he was about to lose the deal. Jek stood his ground, dread welling up in his stomach. Just as the farmer--Owen, was that his name?--was about to speak, the younger human interjected.

"Uncle Owen! What about _that_ one?" He gestured toward the blue domed R2 unit that had moved out of line and was now standing, immobile, at the forefront of the display.

Fortunately, the farmer went for it. "What about that blue one? We'll take that one."

The pheromones of the other Jawas around screamed relief. Jek shared their sentiment, but tried not to make it too obvious. He hoped the sands would bless the young human.

He began the process of re-negotiating the deal, since, he told the man, the blue R2 droid was an astromech unit, and therefore worth far more.

He cast a sidelong glance as two of his sublieutenants carried away the agromech unit, and the blue R2 unit followed the boy and the interpreter droid.

Jek felt a strange sense of awe envelop him, as though he had just taken part in something that would have a great consequence for the universe. Perhaps, in some small way, his sale had changed the course of events out among the stars.

Jek shook the feeling off to embrace a new feeling: the collecting of credits. He watched in greedy anticipation as the farmer paid out the amount that they had agreed upon.

Jek reassured his clan brothers with pheromones that expressed satisfaction and success. The smell of joy wafted through the air and Jek bade farewell to the moisture farmer with the standard barterer's adage: "Both traders have received the better bargain this day."

The man turned back to his farm, grumbling something about the unfairness of the local economy. Jek faced his comrades and began dividing the credits among the Jawas, giving the largest shares to the acquisition team and the Jawas who had handled the droids personally. Jek kept a considerable sum for himself, of course.

After all was done, Jek motioned his clan brothers back into the sandcrawler and returned to his command room.


	4. Chapter 4

Jek reclined meditatively in his swivel chair. It had been a profitable day, and now night was approaching. He should get some rest before the forthcoming swap meet. He would need to be in top condition to get the best bargains.

When Wimateeka, the Nkik clan leader, learned of his great accomplishments, he would commend Jek for his excellent work. Perhaps he would even be in line for a promotion in the distant future. Maybe he would eventually rise to the position of clan leader, long after Wimateeka had passed away. His clan brother, Het Nkik would stand at his side and transfer his commands down through the hierarchy

Perhaps he could even make something concrete out of Het's radical ideas. When his efforts as a clan leader brought power and prestige to the Jawas, they would rise from their position as cowardly scavengers and become a great power on Tatooine. The Nkik military forces would drive the heavens' latest contemptible spawn, the white-armored "sandtroupers," off of Tatooine, and make it safe for free traders from Mos Eisley to the Dune Sea.

Jek's daydreams metamorphosed into much clearer visions, and dimly he realized he was falling asleep. The endless vista of his mind stretched out into the equally vast desertscape of Tatooine. He saw himself, sitting in a command chair more luxurious than the one he currently occupied, gazing out a polished viewport at his clan brother, Het Nkik. Het stood the size of a ripe Wookie, shaking hands with a proud human, as a crowd equipped with holocams and recorders edged toward the central pair enthusiastically. Nearby, ranks of sandtroopers, their unmasked faces cast toward the ground, marched defeatedly into a waiting troop carrier. Jek watched victoriously, knowing that he had engineered the whole affair.

Jek looked behind him, and the desert wind blew back a storm of sand, almost as though tearing away a layer of time to reveal the past. On a platform extending out over the Dune Sea, stood the young moisture farmer, clad in black with an air of invincibility. Behind him stood all the antagonists of the Jawas, and Jek realized distantly that the confident human was the leader of his army. The enemies drew their weapons and came closer to Jek's friend.

Behind the battle that was about to ensue, the remainder of Jek's army, the two droids that they had sold to the farmers, stood ready. The young human made some kind of gesture, and leaped off the platform. Then, the blue R2 unit opened a compartment in his dome and shot a shiny handle, which resembled an oversized multitool, into the air.

Before Jek's mind caught up with his eyes, the young farmer was soaring through the air. His hand reached out and the handle flew, like a bantha to a Tusken, into his palm. He dropped to the ground and landed neatly on his feet among the enemies.

Jek sat forward, his eyes glowing brightly with amazement. No sooner did the young warrior's boots touch the deck, the shiny handle turned, by some unknown form of magic, into a glowing sword in his hands. With the speed and skill of a true fighter, he swung his sword and cut the enemy soldiers down.

Jek grinned in triumph, reclining in his chair. Just then, an auditory impulse arrived at his brain, and he was startled out of his peaceful slumber, as his dreams swirled and coalesced into reality. He found himself in the command room of his sandcrawler once again, in almost the same chair, but this one cobbled together from old boxes and crates. He fine-tuned his highly sensitive hearing to pick up and confirm the sound he believed he had just heard.

There it was again! The cry of a bantha sounded, just outside the sandcrawler. Jek noticed with escalating dread that the sandcrawler had stopped moving; it's massive gears no longer groaned beneath his feet.

He stepped out of the command room, securing his ion blaster. He knew, however, that it would be no use. Ion blasters were made to temporarily disable the functions of a droid. If Tusken Raiders had decided to attack the crawler, as the presence of banthas would suggest, then it would be useful only to further arouse the wrath of their foes.

Jek stole quietly through the corridors of the sandcrawler. Perhaps the Sand People just needed some scrap metal or ration packs or some water. The Jawas would only gladly give them what they wanted . . .

. . . In exchange for their lives? Was Jek fooling himself? Tuskens didn't attack huge vehicles on the offhand chance of gaining spare provisions. They did it for sport, for fun, for the morbid opportunity to slaughter creatures smaller and weaker than themselves.

Jek was just beginning to rethink his future policies, this time considering hosting an annual Tusken hunt, when he caught site of a plate of dusty white armor. Jek stepped back and shrieked some broken curses in his native tongue. The "sandtrouper" ignored him, and leveled his blaster at the Jawa leader.

"Where are those droids?" the soldier barked.

Jek trembled, but collected himself enough to offer a meek response. "We have several robots on board for sale. I would be honored to negotiate with you for one of them."

There was an untruth if he had ever told one.

The human was not giving in. "You acquired some droids wandering in the desert. You will hand them over now!"

Jek's calm wavered, but held. "We picked up two droids in the desert. One was an R2 unit; one was a 3PO translator model. . ."

"Where are they?"

The bold crawler captain's language broke down, giving the Jawa equivalent of stuttering. "We-we-we sold them to a farmer down that way," he screeched, motioning in the general direction of the plantation house.

If the Jawa could have seen the sandtrooper's expression, he would have been appalled by the sinister smirk that was currently hidden behind a mask. "You've been real helpful, midget. Give our regards to the rest of 'em."

With that, the trooper and his companions marched from the chamber, and Jek heard the clutter of their boots on the duracrete. He collapsed in his chair and took a moment to recover himself.

He didn't have much time before a horrible sound came from outside the crawler. Jek swiveled around in his chair and listened intently to the sound of laser weapons tearing into the ancient sandcrawler. Amidst the shrieks of his clan-brothers and the stench of ozone permeating the air, Jek closed his eyes and thought of the Jawa army and the farmer with the glowing sword. In his mind's eye, he stared at the blade, and then white-hot fire erupted all around. Beneath his hood, Jek Nkik smiled as the darkness came to claim him.


End file.
